Notes: I'll try to be enthusiastic until after this fic gets some reviews.

It was as fine as any other day. The Dark Lord was setting fire to the moors and the Muggle urban as usual, and The Golden Trio sans Ronald Bilius Weasley could be found in the library of Hogwarts, researching.

One Hermione Jean Granger pointed out to one Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore that since Harry James Potter, her best friend, is destined to defeat one of the most terrible Dark Lords the Wizarding World had ever encountered, the whole Restricted Section of the library should be open for their perusal, as perks of being a hero and all. The wizened old warlock happily obliged, and Harry found himself dragged into a space filled with shelves of dusty books.

Bored, his eyes glazed in and out of focus, an arm supporting his lolling head on an oak table. Hermione, surrounded by hills of tomes, had her reading glasses on and her bushy hair in a bun, eyes glinting at the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to read something others have not, which Harry didn't at all comprehend.

And then Harry saw it. A thin, hardbound book, precariously balanced on top of one of Hermione's book mountains. As his eyes tried to focus, they made out the words, "So You Want a Fully-Functional Horcrux? The Six Steps Towards Making One".

For a minute or two, Harry stared. Among piles and piles of dreary, bug-eaten paper, it had been that easy?

Harry shook his head. Naw, he said mentally, it couldn't be.

"Hey, Mie?" he said.

"Mhmm?" Hermione hmm'ed, flipping at an unusually fast rate. Taken aback for a moment, (what a crazy, unusual girl Hermione is) Harry steeled himself and then decided to ask about her fast reading. Because his attention span was that of a mosquito.

"How come you can read all those books so fast?" he asked, looking at her inquiringly.

Hermione let the last of the pages slip by her thumb, and she was done with the book.

"Along with the Time Turner, Professor McGonagall gave me a few more handy artifacts, like this one," she pointed to her glasses which, come to think of it, didn't look at all Muggle-made.

"What's so special about it?"

"It also compresses time, but only for the brain and the eyes, without tiring them out, while simultaneously making reading materials easier to comprehend."

"Oh."

And then Hermione picked up another tome on Dementor Mating Habits, which Harry doubted was useful for their quest. Why was it even in the Restricted Section in the first place? He doubted that they'll be encountering Dementors getting it on any time soon.

The thin Horcrux book looked back at him, and he remembered what it was he was supposed to be asking about.

"Oh! I forgot," he exclaimed, grabbing the book. He flung it onto the open book of Dementor Mating Habits, effectively interrupting Hermione's scanning.

"What the- Hey! I was reading!" she exclaimed back.

"Check this book out!" Harry said expectantly, excited all of a sudden.

Hermione stared at the bold lettering of the title, then her eyes widened.

"What? It can't be that easy!" she cried, "...can it?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. It might be cursed or something."

"Or something. You already touched it, and nothing happened, so it isn't cursed. Either that or you're internally bleeding as we speak, or your privates are decaying."

At the mention of his privates decaying, Harry's hand subconsciously grabbed his bits, and then he blushed for his impulsive action, in front of Hermione of all people, and let go. No, his bits weren't falling off.

"Are you feeling out of sorts? Sick? Drained? About to vomit? Nothing?"

"Err, no."

She stared for a second. "It can't be that easy!" she repeated her previous statement, and voiced Harry's.

"I know. Let's check it out," Harry suggested. Hermione moved her chair so that it was next to Harry's, then opened the book. The spine crackled with age, but stayed intact, and let the book open.

"So you want a fully-functional Horcrux? Chapter one. What is a horcrux?" Hermione read aloud for Harry.

"The Etymology of Horcrux," she said, stopped, said "That means where the word originally came from, Harry," and Harry's creased forehead returned to normal.

"Horcrux is Elven-Celtic in origin, meaning 'an object or device that is primarily used to facilitate human sexual pleasure'.

Harry paled, but Hermione, ever the asexual scholar, read on.

"It is a sexual device, used for self-pleasure, or giving sexual satisfaction to others."

At the mention of sex, Harry nearly fainted. No, at the mention of Horcrux = Sex Toy is more like it. Harry reeled back from his state of utter shock.

"Hermione, what does that mean?"

"Well, Harry. Uhm, to put it simply, Voldemort must have made Horcruxes to-" and she didn't finish that sentence, because she was already laughing her teeth off. The implications of her readings had gotten to her, and she was full-on bowling over in laughter.

"To what? To what!" He knew what it meant. He just needed to hear it from Hermione, rational and sound when it came to thinking.

"It means-HAHA-, Harry that you -HAA- are one of Voldemort's sex toys!" And then a slew of uncontrollable giggles escaped her usually dignified facade. Harry was white as a sheet.

"That's complete and utter bollocks. That book must be a gag gift or something. Horcruxes and sex toys. Pah. That would mean..."

"Yes Harry, that would mean that I had no intent to kill you in the first place," Voldemort said, from behind a bookshelf, before showing himself. But, it wasn't snakefaced Voldie, rather, it was Tom Marvolo Riddle, young, vibrant, not slimy and disgusting, and exquisitely (in Harry's begrudging opinion) debauchable.

Harry almost wasn't able to control his salivating, but also his glaring. he was glarivating.

"But you tried to kill me multiple times!" Harry exclaimed at first, but died down in volume when Tom started nipping at his ear.

"Oh, come off it, Harry. I was merely trying to claim my little Horcrux back," he whispered, licking the shell of Harry's ears, making the teen shiver in delight, and arousal. A quiet moan escaped his lips.

"B-but, you killed my parents! And, and all those people, and caused so much... chaos," he muttered, and gasped, when Tom started attacking his neck.

"Mhmm, why not let Dumbledore explain all that? After this though, because I've been waiting ages for it," he whispered steamily, before capturing Harry's plump lips in a deep, heady, passionate kiss, one that blew Harry's mind over and over, and one with tongue. Plenty of tongue. So much tongue, in fact, that Harry entertained images of that tongue sliding against other parts of his anatomy. He found himself eagerly responding, and sucking wantonly, feeling embarrassed, confused, and really, really horny.

Hermione sat there, finding no other rational explanation for things. Her nose detected no signs of Polyjuice, nor did she hear any of the Dark Magic alarms she'd configured into her ear, connected to Dumbledore's own spinning contraptions in his office, which meant that Dumbledore had willingly allowed Voldemort into the school, and she'd already fired volleys of around a thousand detection charms, all of which coming negative for any Disillusionment, Transfiguration, Transmutation, plastic surgery, alien or mutant powers or Scooby-Doo masks. Nope, this really was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and, for all intents and purposes, he was relatively harmless and sane, and very much interested in Harry, who happened to be his horcrux, or, lmfao, sex toy.

And all is right with the world. Harry once again saved the Wizarding World.

Satisfied, Hermione returned to her own orgy. Of information, that is.

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